Good Game!

I am the worst kind of girl. Or so I have recently been told. I'm the kind of girl who can admire a beautiful three-pointer, even one made by the opposing team. I just appreciate the aesthetics of the thing, but that sort of non-partisan, wishy-washy, all-embracing love of the game is unwelcome in our house. There's a Clevelander on the premises. A word spoken in praise of the other team is a word of treason against the Cavs.

Basketball takes a backseat to baseball on my sports bus, but I like to watch a basketball game when the stakes are high and I have someone to root for. Just because I am rooting for one team or another doesn't necessarily mean I care who wins. I just like to see the men -- all of them -- hit and throw and run. Or dribble, jump and shoot. It's like dance to me. I don't care who wins the ballet.

So, I thoroughly enjoyed Tuesday night's Cleveland v. San Antonio game, what I saw of it. It's a peculiarity of my partner that while he is deeply interested in the outcome of certain sporting events, he can't bear to watch them be played. He gets too anxious. So we watched only the last quarter. He's gotten better; in 1997 I had to broadcast the final game of the World Series, play by play, from the living room while he paced nervously in the dining room. It was a thrilling nail-biter of a game and when the Tribe lost, I was sorry but not crushed. When I opined after the final out in the 11th inning that it had been a great game, I was severely reprimanded by my heart-broken mate. "No! NO! It was not a good game! They lost! That makes it a bad game!"

This kind of blind attachment to and identification with one's sports team is a thing I just don't understand. What does team loyalty get you these days? Bragging rights, I guess, but little else. Even if your team wins it won't increase your income (or not much, anyway), make your kids smarter, or make you more attractive to the opposite sex. The thrill of victory is an ephemeral joy and since you yourself didn't do anything to bring about the win, I don't see how you can rightfully take pride in the achievement. Chances are your team won't even be your team next year, since so few players remain as team loyal as the fans. At the end of the day (or the end of the season) you're getting your undies bunched up for nothing.

Do I not get it because it's a guy thing? Maybe so. Men have many attributes, good and bad, that mystify me. But I know plenty of women who are just as fiercely protective of their sports franchise as men. I'm acquainted with a young suburban mother of two who would as soon take your arm off as hear a word spoken against her favorite hockey team. Even when no disparaging comments are forthcoming, she tends to get wild-eyed and frothy discussing them, as though to pre-empt insult. Many men in my life appreciate a good game but don't have their personal self-worth bound to the fortunes of any particular team. There is a large contingent, men and women, who couldn't care less about sports. Sane persons, presumably, who devote their energy elsewhere.

And then there are we few, we happy few, who enjoy sport for the skill, the drama, and the beauty of a demanding physical contest well played, regardless of outcome.

Good game, everybody!